I can hardly believe that I am writing this post on the last day of 2019. It was a year that opened with such great promise. I found what I hoped would be my dream work in a nonprofit devoted children's literacy. Cliff and I biked in Sicily in the spring --arranged specifically to support an Italian rendezvous with Academy pals (and the cycling introduced us to the enchantment of Sicilia!). We walked the amazing Offa's Dyke Path on the border between England and Wales (one of my favorite walks ever). And then we found ourselves walking the path of the Unexpected Journey and life turned on its head . . .
At times, on this path there is a sensation of walking blind. The trail seems not to be illuminated by the lovely full-moon, rather shrouded in a darkness both unknown and unknowable. Still, I am struck by how this journey comprises many of the characteristics fundamental to all treks. Among those common trek attributes are things that make us flinch or wince in the moment.
And when, on treks, we've winced at rain-soaked gear, lack of water, a twisted ankle, rebelling gut, insect assault or horribly bruised gluteus maximus (like you've never seen -- from a slipped grip on the Haute Route between Chamonix and Zermatt that left me hurling, in complete surprise, onto an unforgiving boulder), we've found the remedy to managing our response is staying present.
Say what? Yep, in the moment pain or discomfort may feel huge -- and settling into that moment is the place where we can cope, manage and carry on. Because the real threat of any of these trail hazards is not what happening in the moment, it is whether we choose (or not) to project into the future our perceptions of how it could affect our ongoing journey. And while, sure, there are those really big episodes that absolutely will pull a trekker off the trail, we never have experienced one (or chosen to give into a lesser event).
We trek aware that speculation of some (potential) future impact of any wincing moment, is to invite the harbinger of fear. Rather than race to the future, I choose to stay in the moment (the wincing moment) and ask myself (in the words of professional marathoner Paul Tergat): "Can I give more? The answer is usually yes." These are words I used in training for my IronMan. I believe we all can (1) dig deep in any moment (even painful moments), (2) choose not project (the what ifs) into the future and (3) then keep giving more -- power, hope, will, determination -- to keep us moving steadily toward our goals and objectives. Sometimes it takes real effort to push back against the unknown and unknowable future. For me presence is at the heart of resilience, grit and determination.
During my plebe summer ('78) at West point, the motto of my New Cadet Company was: "Soldier On!" West Point was a challenge for me in many ways. Some of my deep learning from my Academy experience (that which shines most brightly today) is my keen understanding of and appreciation for the rewards of perseverance.
And so, yesterday, I winced (hard) when my cancer fighting path revealed my cancer markers had increased -- not hugely, perhaps not even significantly as we know I still have cancer; however, up to that moment, every milestone since I started treatment in September had been favorable. In the moment, it was tough information to receive. And my monkey-brain immediately started to project what that information would mean going forward. Could it affect my pending surgery? Did it mean the cancer was spreading again? Was it an entirely separate factor unrelated to the cancer?
I meditated. I prayed. I read NIH research. I winced -- and I felt my anxiety increase as I whirled into the future -- and toward fear.
Finally (late in the evening), I took a breath -- actually one deep, slow breath after another and settled into what is. Then I chose to visit the past for experiences that could inform my present. I remembered a sprained ankle that didn't slow a step along the 270+ miles of the Pennine Way. I recalled a morning in Tibet when we hauled soaked gear, clothes and sleeping bags out of our sodden tent and onto a boggy high altitude pasture, where wind and sun dried them oh so beautifully. I flashed back to traipsing the Haute Route with a purple butt and plenty of pain -- all forgotten in the beauty of the Alps. In each case in my memory, in the moment, I allowed the discomfort. I neither tried to ignore it, nor to determine how it would impact next steps.
It was only then, at the intersection of a fearful future and an efficacious past, that I returned to the moment. No overthinking or worrying is of any value on this Unexpected Journey. What has served me well here is my choice to Soldier On; is to hear my "I can give more," response -- and then get busy with what I can do in the moment.
This morning, my calm has returned. I am choosing to feel the power of my progress. I am basking in yesterday's exchange with Dr. Rixe, when he told us the path we are on is the absolute best for achieving our desired long-term result.
This last week, last day, of 2019, I winced. I recalled that I have winced in the past. I chose not to follow my wince into an unknown future. I am soldiering on! And in July of 2020, when I take those first steps along the Via Francigena, I'll smile and remind myself of that sweet spot in which we all live, the present. I will take a deep breath, hold my head up, roll my shoulders back, smile, rejoice in the moment and move forward -- with complete certainty that what is ahead of me is unknown and unknowable. Oh the blessing of life!
Progress:
- Day 2, Cycle 8.
- Another great meeting yesterday with our super-hero oncologist, Dr. Olivier Rixe. All my labs remain normal (or as he says, "Great). Dr. Rixe promises to join us half way along the Via Francigena to share the trail for awhile.
- With another drug removed from my treatment arsenal, I am feeling many fewer side-effects as we head toward the New Year. No big celebration this New Year's Eve as Super Thor (my Flurouracil pump) is a bit of a party dud.
- With good energy, I am approaching some de-cluttering tasks and working on a hand-quilting project.
- I missed my 21s by one mile last cycle -- a shorter cycle (by one day) with tough side-effects. I'll get 'em this cycle.
- Between Cliff and I, the holiday cards are ready to mail (this was mostly Cliff, I must say).
Life is always either no more or not yet. Like time, life comes from what is not yet, passes through what is without space, and disappears into what is no longer. . . . It is only by calling past and future into the present of remembrance and expectation that times exists at all. Hence the only valid tense is the present, the Now. . . . (F)earlessness exists only in the complete calm that can no longer be shaken by events expected of the future.~Hannah Arendt, combined extracts from Love and Saint Augustine
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| HAPPY NEW YEAR! |
VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!
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